Los Juegos
by daevir
Summary: This fandom needs to multiply exponentially! Here's a collection of drabbles about those lovely Losers. Most recent, Aisha.
1. Jensen

The roar of the motorcycles pounded in his ears, and coupled with the wind, he was all but deaf. Jensen tilted his head slightly, trying to make out the slightly inflamed tattoo on Andréa's tanned thigh. To Jensen's irritation, it was impossible to make out. Leaning over even more, he lurched and let out a manly scream as he nearly fell off the motorcycle. Righting himself, he ignored a glare from the muscular doll factory worker, and adjusted his glasses. Just ahead, hitching a ride on the beautiful Evita's bike, was Cougar. Jensen admired observed the way his long dark hair whipped behind him, from under that magnificent hat. For a while after meeting Cougar, Jensen had considered styling his own hair in such a manner, but Pooch had vehemently dissuaded him from this course of action. Of course, Jensen had taken umbrage at his colorful language, but at the arrival of Clay, both parties quieted.

As the road swerved, Jensen noticed the muscles in Cougar's taut back tighten underneath his shirt. He licked his suddenly dry lips. This Bolivian weather was no good for Jensen's skin. _Ivory,_ his mother called it. _Crackerjack_, Roque proclaimed. Either way, he was burning up like Clay's cooking on the back of this damned motorcycle, and he really didn't think the way Cougar was holding Evita was strictly appropriate. They were _coworkers_, and the others back at the doll factory would have a field day with this gossip. Jensen had done his best to keep Cougar out of the gossip (mostly by making it all about him), but Cougar's roaming hands were going to ruin everything. Jensen's stomach did not feel very well at all. It felt as though it were going to drop out his butt and onto the asphalt, twitching and convulsing like fresh road kill, actually. _I'm going to have to give that twisted, horny bastard a piece of my mind! I am alerting Clay to Coug's frivolous actions. I bet he would walk away from a mission to grope a gaggle of unsuspecting women, the depraved sicko! _

Finally, a sharp turn in the road replaced Cougar's tanned, well-muscled, toned arms around Evita's trim waist, grasping for dear life as she wrenched the sputtering bike to the left. Jensen clenched Andréa's waist just in time, but his butt still slid back a good few inches. He glared at Cougar through his darkened shades. As they pulled up to the cemetery, Cougar swung those long, long legs of his off the motorcycle and planted a kiss on Evita's lips. His insides boiled. As Jensen went to kiss Andréa, Cougar pulled her face towards his instead. She giggled obnoxiously and leaned in. With a grin, Cougar let go and walked over to the others. Jensen scowled and followed as the women roared away. Roque and Pooch chuckled as Cougar tipped his hat in that infuriating way.

As Cougar turned to listen to Clay, Jensen still couldn't help admiring his long, lean, tanned body. The jauntily angled hat…the glossy dark hair…and especially that mustache and goatee…

"Jensen! Are you listening?! And what in god's name are you wearing?" Jensen snapped his head up, and his thoughts away from the sexy sniper. As he launched into his explanation, he still got the feeling that Cougar had known exactly what he'd been thinking about.


	2. Aisha

**A/N: I absolutely LOVE how this fandom is growing! :D And we definitely all have a love for Jensen/Cougar. Here's Aisha.**

The bar was a shithole, really. The few stools that still had possession of all four legs were chipped, rickety, and ancient. The bar itself was clad in a quilt of stains, and its original color was impossible to tell, although Aisha hoped it had originally been pus-yellow. That way she could fool herself into thinking it wasn't as dirty as it looked. The bartender was as crusty as his bar, and didn't give a damn, but Aisha respected that. Deciding to enter, she dragged herself over the threshold and plopped onto one of the unstable stools.

"I'll take a beer…whatever you have on tap." She said, exhausted. Today's mission had not gone exactly as planned, and she couldn't help feeling somewhat responsible. The guys had been mostly welcoming to her, but she still got the inclination that she was intruding on some private club, where the language was different and the customs strange. She felt as though she was slowing them up. Aisha sighed. Working in a team was more trouble than it was worth…maybe that's why she'd always gone solo before now. But to take down Max, she would need the help of a hacker, a planner, a sniper, and a transpo specialist. Some jobs were too big to handle alone.

The bartender slid the beer down the worn table, and she caught it. The cap had already been pried off, so Aisha took a long pull from the dusty brown bottle. As the bitter, hoppy liquid swirled down her throat, she relaxed a bit. Here was a language she could speak fluently- alcohol.

Sometimes, even when surrounded by the guys, Aisha felt alone. More alone than she'd ever been, even while tracking down Max in shitty motels; even when she left home in Bolivia, with her father's humiliating screams chasing her into the night.

Still, Aisha was not a woman who would cry herself to sleep and quit, just because she was the odd one out in a group. Aisha polished off the bottle, and the bartender immediately sent another one sliding towards her. She nodded at him gratefully.

After her tenth beer, someone walked into the dank, musty room. Aisha stared hard, willing her eyes to focus. The man swimming before her had luminous glass eyes, and hair the color of sunshine. His eyes glinted at her, and she heard a low whistle, followed by a chuckle. The glass-eyed man said something that slipped past her ears, and threw her arm over his shoulder, leading her out onto the street. She stumbled and vaguely wondered where he could be taking her.

"Wherzsha going," Aisha slurred. The man just laughed again, and spoke something unintelligible. He was warm, and she was so very tired…For the first time, she felt safe. The pavement shrank farther away as she was lifted into a fireman's carry. Aisha saw a few flashing lights, and her head nodded.

"Where'd you find her?" Clay asked, concerned, as Jensen came through the door of their

hotel room. Aisha was slung across his back, asleep. Jensen laughed.

"She was getting smashed in this bar a few blocks from here. She couldn't walk, so I carried her here. This woman can drink, I'll say that," Jensen laid Aisha on the bed in her room, and returned to the kitchen, where Clay was standing, and Cougar was lounging at the table, cleaning his gun. Jensen could barely see traces of the world's faintest smile, but it was there. Clay was almost comically relieved.

"What, Colonel, you weren't _worried_ for our psychotic princess, were you?" Jensen teased. Thunderclouds darkened Clay's face, and Jensen gulped. Cougar smirked.

"Only kidding, sir!"


	3. Sparring

The light outside the dirty window was fading, but it was still quite warm. Jensen was sprawled across the couch, with his laptop on his chest. Cougar was sitting in the single ratty chair, his hat pulled down across his eyes. His chest rose and fell slowly. Pooch was out on the balcony, talking to his wife on the phone. Jensen groaned.

"I can't get through without the key! And we can't even start planning the break-in until tomorrow night. Whoever wrote this code knew their shit." He sighed, putting his laptop on the coffee table, and stretching. His muscles rippled, and his back popped from being hunched over so long. Looking around, and seeing no one to talk to, he ambled over to the small kitchenette. It was miniscule, actually, housing a mini-fridge, microwave, sink, and two stools. Jensen's stomach rumbled. He could really go for a hotdog right now… They were his favorite food, as a matter of fact. Topped with relish, mustard, ketchup, and cheese…mmmmm….As he opened the mini-fridge, he heard a moan. Turning with a slight frown, he tilted his head, trying to find where the noise had been coming from. Again, he heard a moan, and a grunt. His eyebrows rose, and a wicked grin stretched across his features. Those sounds were coming from Clay's room. Another feminine moan, higher-pitched this time, emanated from the small, one-bed room, and Jensen slowly closed the fridge door. A screech distracted his attention. Pooch came off the balcony, stowing his phone in his pocket, and rubbing his hands together. The scent of cigarettes, alcohol, garbage, and cooking meat floated up from the street.

"Jensen, it's freezing out there man, I swear I nearly froze in place with that woman chattering in my ear," Pooch complained, but with a small smile. He really did love his wife. "Uh, Jensen…why are you grinning at me like that?" Pooch looked uncertain. Jensen shushed him, flapping a hand. Pooch opened his mouth to argue, but Jensen shushed him again, with an accompanying glare. _Listen,_ Jensen mouthed, and pointed towards Clay's room. Pooch gave him a look, but turned his head nonetheless and listened. A feminine shriek, and a loud, low grunt rang through the silent kitchen. Pooch guffawed. Jensen covered his own mouth with his hand.

"Is that Clay and Aisha?" Pooch whispered. Jensen shrugged.

"Maybe. It's definitely Clay, and of all the places we've stayed for missions, he never took a woman back to the room." That was by and large Jensen…or rather; Jensen wanted it to be Jensen. The women typically rejected his advances. Pooch crept cautiously to his bag, and grabbed a small video recorder. They both giggled as Pooch flicked it on with a small beep. Padding ever-so-slowly down the hall, Pooch kept it glued to his eye. More shrieks, moans, and groans could be heard as they came closer to Clay's closed door. A thumping could be heard as well. Jensen stuffed his fist into his mouth to keep from laughing, and Pooch had tears of mirth running down his cheeks. He fought to keep the camera steady. As they reached the door, they held the camera to the keyhole, but they could see nothing but rumpled bed sheets. The thumping -something hitting wood- could be heard louder now, and the moans and grunts were rhythmic. Jensen slowly reached for the handle, and turned it, freezing as it creaked once. Opening the door the smallest crack, they stuck the camera's lens through. With another grunt, something heavy flew through the air and hit the door, breaking into small pieces. Pooch jumped and accidently flung the door open. Jensen froze as his gaze fell on Aisha, standing on the bed with a bloody lip and scratched knuckles. He turned his head slowly as the grin on his lips died. Clay next to the bed, his fist pulled back, poised to strike, and the other guarding his face and neck. Pooch gulped. Clay relaxed his hands, and Aisha rolled her shoulders, hopping down from the bed.

"What is going on here?" He asked in his thunderous voice. Jensen laughed nervously.

"Nothing, I-uh, that is to say, Pooch here had the idea- we wondered what-not my fault…" He trailed off under Clay's gaze. Pooch elbowed Jensen.

"_Pooch had the idea?" _Jensen opened his mouth to retaliate, but was cut off by Aisha.

"I believe I can shed some light on this situation, Clay," She said, each word dripping with danger. "Jensen here probably heard us sparring, and being the youngest, least mature, least developed, and least experienced, imagined us to be doing something slightly friendlier, involving less clothing. Considering his tender age and slight social retardation, it's safe to say he planned to videotape us having sex, for blackmail use at a later date." Jensen's mouth dropped open slightly. Pooch covered his mouth to stop his chuckling. Clay's eyebrows rose, and Aisha smirked slightly.

"Pooch was easily roped into Jensen's scheme. He probably missed immaturity, now that he's a father. And Cougar, I imagine, was simply there to keep an eye on things."


End file.
